


Failure Is But Success In Disguise

by oceaxe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Auror Partners, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Legilimency, M/M, Rimming, smugness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9917768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: Potter's legilimency skills need work and his new Auror partner Draco is all too happy to help him. When he sees something in Potter's mind that confirms some long-held suspicions, he instantly formulates a plan to capitalize on this new knowledge. Somehow or other, though, the tables get turned.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiftylinguini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/gifts).



> Shifty, I loved this prompt and I hope I did it justice. It's been months since I've written these two fools so forgive me if this is not my best effort. I still had a lot of fun filling the prompt.
> 
> Many thanks for Queen Thayet for early input, and AmoretteHD and Brookebond for the lightning fast but thorough beta!

We haven’t been partners very long, maybe a few months. I won’t lie, neither of us was thrilled to be paired with the other for, well, obvious reasons. I thought Potter was sloppy, lazy, resting on his laurels—his success rate be damned. It doesn’t count the same as everyone else, when an evildoer gets one look at your scar and surrenders out of fucking shock and awe. 

And for his part, Potter clearly thinks I’m up to something—all these years later. What a knob. 

Well, he might be right. I might be up to something. But not anything like he suspects, no pureblood revenge or family vendetta. 

So when the Mayorga case comes up and the suspect seems to be using Legilimency on their victims, the Department plays right into my hands by mandating that every senior Auror take Occlumency lessons. From me. 

After all, what living wizard could come close to my experience, what with keeping my seditious thoughts private from the Dark Asshole for over a year? My Occlumency skills were and are unparalleled. 

It becomes clear at my first session with Potter that he is a hopeless case. I’m strongly considering recommending he be put on leave until the suspect is apprehended, because with these pathetic defenses, he could put the entire department at risk. 

But then I catch a glimpse of something. Just the merest hint, the inkling of a suggestion, the whisper of a fantasy. But what a fantasy.

First of all, it’s two men. That alone is reason to rejoice. I’d always suspected—well, I and the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly and every gay wizard for miles around—but there has never been definitive proof of Potter’s possible bisexuality. 

Second, it seems to be, judging by the split second glance I got, rimming. Or perhaps just a very ambitious blow job, with one party’s legs in the air. I’m holding out hope for rimming, naturally. 

Third, and to reiterate, it’s just a glimpse. But I’ll swear on the grave of every Malfoy from the signing of the Statute of Secrecy to the present day, the person getting rimmed was none other than Harry J. Potter, Senior Auror and Hero of the Second Wizarding War. And the person bestowing the rimjob—well, let’s just say I saw platinum blond hair. I swear I did. I swear it.

Being a professional, I don’t let this knowledge show on my face. I continue pressing past the region from which the image sprang, which was curiously close to other mental images surrounding the DMLE, digging in for scenes related to Auror work. I come up with an impressive array of confidential information, smirk and withdraw to find Harry staring slackjawed at me. The whole process took about ten seconds.

“That was like being hit with the Hogwarts Express,” he said sullenly, his eyes sliding away from mine. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I rejoin, subtly adjusting myself in my trousers under my robe and turning away. Harry doesn’t notice. Harry never appears to notice. Maybe not consciously—but there’s something under the surface. Something I’m not going to let go. 

“Look, Potter, that was truly pathetic,” I continue as he idly picks up a quill and twiddles it with his long calloused fingers. I have often thought of those fingers, those hands—the power inherent in them, and what they could do to me. I would switch for him—I yearn to dominate him but I would kneel for him, too. I shake myself—these are unprofessional thoughts, best left for my leisure time. 

“You must learn to do better. We’re going to have to schedule some extra tutorials, an Auror in your position simply cannot have such weak defenses.”

Potter’s head hangs between his shoulders as he sits with his forearms on his knees. “I know. You’re—you’re right.”

God, that’s practically a posture of submission and an admission of defeat. Lust surges within me and I club it down viciously. Not the time nor place. 

“If you don’t want the others knowing that I’m giving you extra attention,” I smirk at the double entendre, “we can do it outside the office.” I watch his cheeks color slightly and wonder at the cause. Humiliation that he’s not good at something for once? 

“Yeah, you could come over to mine,” he mumbles. I smile broadly at this unlooked-for invitation. 

“Sounds fine.” Sounds more than fine. “How does this evening suit? Eight o’clock?” 

Potter nods, then looks me in the eye. There’s a glint there that wasn’t there before, but it’s gone in the space of a breath and he turns away to his ever-present stack of incomplete reports. 

Look, I know that fucking my partner is not a great idea. I’m not planning on fucking him, anyway. I mean, if he begged me I wouldn’t make him go unsatisfied. But I’m not fucking him, I’m just having a bit of fun. It’s harmless.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur of sessions with the other senior Aurors. Potter’s defenses were by far the weakest—everyone else seems to have retained a fair portion of their basic training. 

I hardly see Potter again throughout the day, which allows my mind to run wild with speculation as to what I might find this evening, if I’m very clever. I make several emergency trips to the loo to work off the tension. 

When I get home to my flat at seven, I shower. Best to be prepared for every eventuality, no matter how far-fetched or ill-advised. The black cashmere sweater is clean, thank Merlin, and with the charcoal pants that Potter can’t keep his eyes away from, they form the perfect ensemble—casual but severe. Perfect. 

Nothing appeals for dinner, so I skip it and sit by the fire, nursing a scant measure of Firewhiskey while I mull my plan of attack that evening. I think we’ll do just one practice round before diving in in earnest; it wouldn’t do for him to improve too quickly. 

The tempus alarm chimes at five til eight and I rise and go to the Floo. I’m shaking slightly—should have eaten, I suppose. No help for it now. 

Potter had given me his Floo address that morning and I read it aloud, stepping into the flames and letting them wrap around me, swirl me onto the hearth at Grimmauld Place. I step out into the home of my ancestors, a place I’ve been only once in my life. Great Aunt Walburga was, shall we say, a problematic character in my mother’s family. No subtlety at all. 

I look around the parlor and see Potter sitting on a battered Louis Quattorze chair, looking apprehensive. “Welcome to my home, Malfoy,” he says as he gets up to greet me. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“I rather think we’d better keep our heads clear for the session, Potter,” I say witheringly, neglecting to mention the whiskey I’d already consumed. I surreptitiously spell my breath clean. 

“Sure,” he says, running his hand through his hair and looking around. “So, you want to do this here or...we could go to the kitchen?” 

“Here is fine,” I say. There’s a large, comfortable looking divan by the fire that inspires wicked thoughts. A little too tempting. “Actually, the kitchen might be preferable.” 

He leads me downstairs to a cavernous galley and we sit across a scarred wooden table, elbows on the table, considering each other. He really is a handsome twat. I don’t always allow myself to notice this, or acknowledge it. Sometimes it hits me with unexpected force. 

“Well, do you want to begin?” I ask, voice harder than I intend. 

Potter straightens in his seat and sets his mouth in a firm line. “Yes. I’m ready.” His wand is clutched tightly in his hand. 

“Legilimens,” I whisper with a flick of my wand towards his forehead. 

“Occlumens!” he all but yells, the wand movement jerky and too emphatic.

As before, I am instantly assaulted with what appears to be every thought he’s ever had, no sign of barriers anywhere. If I wasn’t already convinced of his total incompetence in this arena, I’d almost think it was a set-up. 

The images swirl but are mostly centered around home life—his kids, Ginny, the divorce and publicity—I brush past all that and try to locate thoughts that contain confidential Auror business. Business that inevitably involves me as well, so it’s expedient to keep an eye out for a flash of bright hair. A cache of memories and speculations wash over me and I reach out to them, grabbing on to the nearest one. 

It’s Potter and me fighting over interrogation methods; surprisingly, it is I who advocates in favor of circumventing due process. We nearly came to blows over that. I follow his figure to the next scene; he heads to the loo and bangs his way into a stall, and then the scene is doubled. It’s a memory of him in stall, taking himself in hand—well done, Potter, the rumors are true—and it’s a fantasy. 

It’s a fantasy of me. 

I find myself thrust out of Potter’s head before I can completely grasp what’s happening. It’s bit impressive, considering how sadly inadequate he’s been at this so far. 

Across the table, Potter is giving me an intense look; I imagine I’m giving him a similar one. A smile breaks out unbidden over my face. I devour him with my eyes—his chest is heaving, a trickle of sweat slips down past his ear.

I want to stand up and yell, “I knew it!” I want to drag him across the table and lick my way into his lush mouth. I want to shout my triumph to the stars. I don’t do any of these things. Instead, I get a grip on myself, so I can utilize this new information to maximum effect.

“You want me to do that to you, hm, Potter? What I saw just now? What was it you said, in your fantasy? ‘Kiss my arse?’ And then I said—remind me.”

Potter’s face begins to flush but his gaze doesn’t waver. “Keep going,” he says. “Get it all out, Malfoy. Have a go at me.”

Well, I’ve never been one to turn down an open invitation. “I said ‘I thought you’d never ask.’ And then I got down on my knees—you’d love to see me there, wouldn’t you? And I—what’s the word for this act, Potter? I forget.”

Potter’s gaze finally wavers. His cheeks are hectic with color now and he stares at the table. “You know.”

Ah, finally a direct acknowledgement of my orientation and copious experience. “I want to hear you say it.”

Mutinous, Potter says under his breath, “Rimming.” 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I ask sweetly, daggers behind my smile. 

He looks me directly in the eye and says flatly, “Rimming. You were rimming me.” 

My cock twitches in my pants and I let my hand drop into my lap, under the table, to caress it slightly as I adjust it. Something tells me it’s not going to be quiescent during this conversation, so I may as well accommodate it.

“Interesting,” I drawl.

“Malfoy. You saw something I didn’t want you to see. Let’s just take it as read that you win this round and try again.” His jaw is set. He looks every inch the hardened hero this world forces him to play. But I’m willing to bet there’s something else underneath, something he needs seen, acknowledged.

Then his words sink in and I boggle at him. He’s willing to let me in his mind again? Is he a glutton for punishment? 

Maybe so.

Maybe that’s exactly what he is. 

Maybe that’s what needs to be seen—or needs being seen to.

A broad smirk sets up residence on my face and I don’t wipe it off. 

“Fine. _Legilimens_ ,” I say, giving him no time to prepare.

“ _Occlumens_ ,” he barks with a wave of his wand. 

Again, an undifferentiated cascade of scenes surrounds me, a thick swirl of mental furniture—almost as if he’s trying to bury me in irrelevancies. Maybe, since he can’t keep me out, that’s his strategy. Distraction.

It won’t work—I’m like a Crup on the scent now. 

Following the emotional line of the previous fantasy, I put out feelers for similar threads and instantly find myself wading through dozens of images of him and myself—walking together, working together, fighting—oh, that’s not—

Harry’s pushing me against a wall, but I’m going easily. He falls to his knees, hands frantically working my flies. My cock nearly hits him in the face when it springs free of my trousers, and my head lolls back as he takes it in his mouth, a rapturous look transforming his features. He looks good on his knees, I can’t help but notice. I’ve put him there many times, in my own fantasies. It’s nice to know we can agree on something.

I watch as my fantasy-self holds Harry’s head in place, fucking his face with only the barest shred of restraint. He’s got saliva dripping down his chin, my cock stuffed so far into his mouth that I can see just a glimpse of the shaft. He’s making choking noises that should be repellent but aren’t, not at all, because it’s clear that he’s enjoying it, and my God, so am I. My proxy is shaking, knees trembling—it’s not at all certain who’s in control here. 

My vision blurs and I find myself outside his head again, slightly dizzy with the force of his ejection. I close my eyes to regain equilibrium and open them to meet his gaze, searing into me. He doesn’t look ashamed. If anything, I would call that look an open challenge. My cock stirs again. But I think I know what game is being played here, much though it pains me.

“Stop that,” I say, testing him.

“Stop what?” he replies, and there it is, the flicker of intent. He’s doing it on purpose. 

“You won’t get around me that easily,” I say. “Whatever you don’t want me to see, you won’t distract me by trying to shock me.” I’m nearly shuddering with suppressed desire now, but I can’t let him see that. Not if I’m right.

He smiles then, a wicked smile that lances through me like a blade. 

“Whatever I don’t want you to see? What do you think that is, Draco?”

“Again,” I say, raising my wand. I’m at a loss. He’s playing with me but I’m not sure I know the game after all. But so far, the rules dictate that it’s my turn. 

Harry fingers his wand where it lies on the table but doesn’t pick it up. I murmur _Legilimens_ and don’t hear an answering spell. 

With no preamble, I’m facing a scene of the two of us. We’re both stark naked. Harry’s on his back, head thrashing in pleasure. I’m on top of him, thrusting into him relentlessly. We moan and sweat and grind against each other, obviously abandoned to sensation. It looks like it feels really, really fucking good. As I watch, my fantasy counterpart leans in, pressing him almost in half and kisses him deeply. I watch Potter’s jaw working as he gives as good as he gets.

This time I leave his head on my own recognizance.

“You’re not even trying to keep me out,” I say, panting slightly.

“I don’t see the point. You’re in my head all the time anyway.” He refuses to look away, the noble git. Does he even realize what he’s saying?

My heart is racing but I maintain a cool exterior. “What do you want, Potter? What is this?”

His eyes bore through me. “You.”

Before I consciously register what I’m doing, I find myself out of my seat and stalking around the table, crawling on top of Potter. I straddle him, pressing my aching erection into his groin and pulling him to me with both hands. He’s not exactly fighting me off; his arms wrap around me, hands sliding down my back to grab at my arse.

My mouth is an inch away from his as I say, “You’ve got me. Fucker.” Then I latch onto his torturously plush mouth and slide my tongue in forcefully, meeting no resistance—only delicious, welcoming heat. 

He pulls away to murmur, “I was hoping you’d be doing the fuck—” and I roll my eyes and cut him off with another searching kiss. That much had been obvious and it’s clear that we’ve been wasting time on a massive scale. This should have happened years ago; as it is, it feels like we won’t last two minutes. I’m riding his hard dick through two layers of pants and trousers and the friction is killing me. 

The gasps he’s making have me wanting to come in my pants, but I refuse to embarrass myself like that. In an instant, I’m up and pulling him to standing. “No, let’s do it this way,” I say, breathless and ragged as I turn him around and push him to bend over the table. “Put your hands there,” I command, pointing on either side of his body. He does, gripping the table’s edge. “Can I trust you to keep them there?” He turns his head to give me a sly smile over his shoulder.

“Have I ever been good at doing what I’m told?” he asks. 

I spell his hands to the table with a neat little sticking charm I happen to know, and watch as he tests it. He grunts, seemingly in approval, and frots the table. His arse, even under his filthy jeans, is perfection and I’m not waiting any longer to get my hands on it. With another murmured spell, his clothes and mine are vanished into the ether, where they can stay, as far as I’m concerned.

“How would you like your fantasy fulfilled,” I say. It’s not really a question. His arse is better than I had imagined—round, full, muscular—ripe with the promise of sensual pleasures. It’s lightly furred, which I would detest on myself, but on him just adds to the appeal. I want to bite it. So I do.

He lurches forward, then thrusts back. “Now,” he says. 

Impertinence, but did I expect anything different? I swat his cheek, just hard enough to raise a little pinkness there. He moans, a good moan, a nice moan—he likes it. So I do it again, just once more to see the flesh bounce. Then I lower myself until I’m on my knees and I grab both cheeks, mauling them, squeezing and pulling.

This is my favorite act to perform on a lover. I love the intimacy and surprise of it. I love the filthiness of it. I love the control, I love the musk, I love _arses_ and opening someone up for the first time. It’s not clear to me whether this is something that Potter’s ever had done to him, but I know _I’ve_ never done it to him so he really doesn’t know what he’s in for.

I spread him wide, nudging his legs further apart. He gusts out a sigh when I lean forward, burying my face between his crack. A simple wandless sanitation charm takes care of the necessaries but leaves his own lovely odor, which I spend a few moments taking in rapturously. Potter squirms and I pinch his cheek in warning, but really I’m glad he’s eager for more. He’s certainly going to get it.

I lean back again to look at the tight little star of his entrance. It’s browner than the surrounding skin, delicate feathered edges of crinkled flesh begging to be teased open. I flicker my tongue over it and he groans, a delicious sound that makes me ache to just lay into him, fuck him wide with my mouth. But I’m taking my time—Merlin only knows how many times I’ve dreamed of just this.

I flicker over it again, then press lightly against it, testing its resistance. He’s really fucking tight – probably a virgin then. I’m going to change his life with this.

I lick over the star—one can’t call it an opening, not yet. I lick over and over and Potter’s helplessly moving in rhythm with me, hips flexing back and forth. He’s also moaning, a long stream of soft guttural sounds. And I haven’t even done anything yet.

I can feel the flesh softening, loosening up under my assault, and I probe the opening with the tip of my tongue. He gasps like I’ve just revealed the wonders of the heavens to him, a blind man. I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me. I know how he feels; it’s such a gift to be able to share this with someone for the first time. Suddenly, I’m absurdly grateful to him.

I thrust gently in and out a few times with just the tip, waggling a little back and forth at the same time. He’s keening now, I’ll bet he never knew anything could feel like this. But he trusts me to show him this. I’m rock hard and shuddering with need but I can’t spare a thought for myself. I want to make this unforgettable. His hole is opening up beautifully; I push farther in and close my lips around the tender, fluttering ring of muscle, Frenching him with abandon. I have to hold onto his hips; he’s so responsive that he’s shaking and rearing back to increase the friction, but I need more control than that.

Now he’s stretched enough that I can thrust in half the length of my tongue, flexing it all around, feeling the tight wet heat of his body, reveling in the smell of arousal that rises higher and higher. Pretty soon I’m going to be unable to resist reaching around to touch his no-doubt raging erection but for now I maintain focus.

His cries make me want to set a charm to preserve them – luckily I own a pensieve, I can revisit this whenever I like, whether we ever do this again or not. I’m giddy with power now, he’s completely falling apart under me, dancing on my tongue like an angel. I’m fucking in and out of his arse as forcefully as I can, and soon it’s time to add some fingers to increase the intensity. Potter howls and bucks and I still him again with my hands, bruising his hips with my fingers.

“Hold on tight,” I mutter as I pull away just slightly. My right index finger creeps along his cleft, giving him fair warning of what comes next. He bites his lips and moans through them, clearly at his wits’ end. He’s straining at the invisible binding at his wrists – if I let him loose he would fist himself to completion in seconds.

Another wandless lubrication spell fills his hole with shiny slick, oozing out as the ring of muscle flutters and clenches around the absence of my tongue. It’s an incredible sight; I feast on it for a moment before pushing in my index finger to the first knuckle. He’s looser than he was but still, a virgin. Potter groans at the intrusion, not entirely a pleased sound. I just leave it there for a minute, circling the perimeter very gently.

After about half a minute, the groans change quality. Potter’s ready for more, and I give it to him. I spell a little more lube in and slide my finger all the way in, crooking it to search for that magical bundle of nerves that will send Potter through the roof. I graze it lightly then retreat, causing him to shout and gyrate on my hand, instinctively searching for the sensation again. I go him one better—I trace the shape of it, teasing it slowly and eliciting a drawn-out moan that I swear on Merlin’s silky drawers almost makes me come untouched. I keep up the hide and seek with his prostate as I sneak another finger to his hole and then waggle it in. 

He’s a natural at this—his arse sucks my finger in like it’s hungry for it. Soon I have him bucking on my hand like an unbroken horse, wild and frantic. I want to take a break, stroke his back, stick my tongue down his throat. I want to _see_ him, see his face, revel in how I’m affecting him. I just have to rely on my imagination though because I’m aching, yearning to be inside him, and forward is the only way through. 

After a few blurry moments with three fingers inside him, we’re both at the limit of waiting. He moans in protest when I take my fingers away, and I shush him. Shakily, I get up from my knees and slick my cock with one hand as the other strokes down his sweaty back. His hair is a crazy mess, his head laying on the table, eyes closed, wrecked beyond belief. 

His eyes open when he feels my hand slide down his spine; he can tell I’ve changed position. He tries to level himself up but I push him back down with a hand to the center of his back. “I’ve got you right where I need you, Potter. Don’t move a muscle.”

He makes such a lovely sight, splayed out for me like a buffet to take and take and take. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and I haven’t let myself know it until just now. I want him. 

Taking myself in hand again, I line up at entrance and let him feel my girth as I press against him just the slightest bit. His mouth falls open at the pressure - he’s anticipating this hurting but it won’t, not for long. I’ve been very thorough. I press the glans in, watching as it slips in completely. I’m inside him. I’m _inside_ him and I never want to be out. I’m transfixed as my cock sinks in, bit by bit, Potter’s mewling cries a balm to my soul. 

I can’t believe how good he feels. My head falls back, my eyes close on their own accord. If I’m not careful, I’ll—no, it can’t happen. I grip my cock around the base fiercely, forcing my orgasm back. I’m fully seated in Potter’s body, watching his heaving back as he struggles to accommodate me, to grapple with this intrusion. It’s the most intense thing I’ve ever seen.

When his breathing slows a bit, I withdraw incrementally, again fixated on the sight of my cock in his arse. He sighs then wiggles his hips slightly, signaling it’s okay for me to push back in. I do, a little faster this time, and Potter makes the most lovely sound I’ve ever heard, there really aren’t words to describe it. He’s shocked at how good this already feels, he’s realizing how much further there is to go up the pleasure scale. I’m going to make him feel so fucking good. He’ll beg me to fuck him forever, and I’ll be happy to oblige. 

I withdraw and re-enter, gradually building up to a steady rhythm, trying not to lose the plot or thrust too hard, too soon. He’s breathing hard, a moan on each exhalation—he’s keeping ahead of the pain and I’m finding the angle. I know when I’ve hit the spot again because he howls and grinds back on my dick like a wild animal. Fuck, he’s perfect. We’re going to have to switch partners, I’m never going to be able to focus with this gorgeous cockslut at the desk next to me. Fuck. 

Now I let myself go a little, my hips gracefully pumping in and out, over and over. Potter takes it like he was made for it. I can’t believe this responsive body underneath me was an innocent to penetration just minutes ago. I lose myself in the feel of him, virginally tight, volcanically hot. I’m making sounds myself, sounds I don’t normally make but I don’t care. I don’t care. I want to be here, right here, for the rest of my life. I look down at him again, he’s biting his lip and fuck— a pang bursts through me, I can’t handle the sight of him. 

I’m speeding up and he’s meeting me more than halfway, fucking himself on my cock as I fuck into his arse. We’re slamming together joyously, rhythmically, brutally. I love this. 

“You are— perfect,” I rasp out, barely able to form the words. He cries out and his hole clenches around me. He’s coming. He sobs as he comes, untouched. I can’t believe I never even felt his cock even once this whole time. He’s a miracle.

We are definitely doing this again. 

He milks the climax out me and I shout something incoherent before collapsing on his back. I’m completely undone, can barely keep my feet even as my torso covers his. This has been, bar none, the best fuck of my life. I find myself kissing his neck, listening to his breathing slow, become less ragged. 

After a few moments, I lever myself off of him, undoing his wrist bindings with a wave of my hand. He pushes off the table, casting a quick cleansing spell over both of us and then collapsing on the floor next to the bench. I recline on the bench itself, turned on my side so I can look at him as he lays there, eyes closed, chest moving up and down. 

“Was that what you were hoping for?” I ask, watching his face closely.

“You have no idea,” he says, a wry little smile on his gorgeous mouth. 

“Well, I do now,” I say, smugness wafting off my words. “Think we should ask for reassignment?”

“Fuck no,” he blurts, eyes flying open. “You know what those stakeouts are like, don’t you want to have something better to do than play Exploding Snap?” 

“I’m just saying, Potter, that it might be rather hard to keep on task now that we’ve opened Pandora’s Box, as it were. If you wanted to continue as partners, you should have practiced your Occlumency more in basic training.” 

He grins at me. “You know I’m not really that bad at Occlumency, right?”

I stiffen. “No.”

“No what, Malfoy?” And if I’d been worried about sounding smug before, I no longer had a thing to worry about. He could clear the room with smugness of that magnitude. 

“No, you did not engineer that,” I state flatly.

“Oh, but I did,” he says, and now he sounds positively gleeful as he sits up, then crawls over to lean over me. “I didn’t know how else to get through to you.”

“Well. And what was the end goal of this rather… Slytherin scheme?” I say resentfully. “An easy fuck?”

Potter just shakes his head. “Why don’t you read my mind?” He’s gazing down at me rather sappily. 

“Too easy,” I say, a smile overtaking my face. 

“Okay, read my lips then.” My gaze slides down, focusing on his perfect mouth. _I want to be with you_ he says silently.

 _Yes_ , I reply, drawing him down to me for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://www.oceaxereturns.tumblr.com)!


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